


Nippage

by Byrcca



Series: Stuff and Nonsense [6]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Clothing malfunction, F/M, Humour, Married Life, Pregnancy, body parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: A little bit of nothing, really. A slice of married life. A slice of adult female life. I’m rating it T for incredibly mild innuendo between married folks, and a reference to a body part we all have. No way is this an M.





	Nippage

~~~

 

B’Elanna shifted in her chair. She hunched her shoulders and wiggled slightly. She crossed her arms over her chest and scratched. Tom slipped his hand under the conference table and brushed her thigh with his fingers. She glanced at him, and he raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head, a quick tilt right, then left: no. Don’t ask. Don’t bother. It’s fine. 

But it didn’t seem fine. She had shrunk back in her chair, her upper body curled in upon itself as she watched Harry finish his report. She looked like a sullen teenager. Or...was she in pain? Was she cramping? Tom felt adrenaline shoot through his system at the thought and he sat up straighter, turning toward her. She shook her head again and raised her eyebrows, her eyes going round. She was mutely imploring him to cut it out. But he couldn’t shake the worry. There was so much that could go wrong, and they had months to go. 

He was debating interrupting Harry when he realized he was done. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Captain Janeway said. “Anyone have anything to add?” she asked, glancing at her officers gathered around the table. “B’Elanna?”

“No.” B’Elanna shook her head and sat up a little straighter. Tom frowned. 

“Well, in that case, let’s get to it!” Janeway sang. 

B’Elanna shot out of her seat and headed for the far door. Tom was due in sickbay, not at the helm, so he followed her out, his mind skirting thoughts of doom, and sifting through more reasonable explanations: hunger, a full bladder, a loose hair down her back, pregnancy itch? 

“Hey,” he said, catching her arm as she headed toward the turbolift. “Everything okay?” He tried his best to smile. 

Harry walked by and sent them a wink. “I’ll see you down there, Maquis.”

B’Elanna nodded and glanced back at Tom. She’d sucked in her lips and was biting down on them, a sure sign that she didn’t particularly want to say what was on her mind. His brain warred between anxiety at her coming announcement, and wanting to coax her lips back out of her mouth. By nibbling on them himself. 

“I’m fine,” she finally said. “Really. I just need…”

Tom was struck with a new idea. Nearing the end of twelve weeks, she was officially about to enter the second trimester of a human pregnancy. Of course, their baby being a human-Klingon hybrid like herself, she could be halfway there already, or she could carry forever, like Sam Wildman had with Naomi. They just didn’t know. But, due date uncertainty aside, the second trimester was when women regained their energy—not that B’Elanna had been tired or sickly—and found a renewed, reinvigorated, some might say insatiable, sex drive. He couldn’t wait. 

She wasn’t showing her pregnancy yet, not really, not in the ‘fleet uniform, but he’d noticed that she was rounder, fuller, lush. He loved her new softness. He found he wanted to touch her all the time, caress her, hold her. She was gorgeous, beautiful, amazing. And though she hadn’t been tired, she’d been moody, dare he say, cranky? So he found he was greatly looking forward to week thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen…

“B’Elanna?” He raised an eyebrow. “Anything you need, just ask.” He knew he looked hopeful; he tried to damp it down. 

She snorted and socked him in the shoulder. “It’s not that,” she said. She looked him up and down. “Well…” She wiggled a little, took a half step closer to him. He tried to remember where the closest head was located. She glanced down the corridor and, assuring herself they were alone, she leaned toward him and whispered, “My brassiere is too small.”

Tom grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. The glimpse he’d got of her cleavage this morning, before she’d yanked on her uniform, had been legendary. He knew that ‘fleet tanks came with built-in support, but B’Elanna, his Maquis rebel, liked wearing a bra. He, Starfleet misfit, loved that she liked wearing a bra. 

He sobered as a thought struck him. “Is it tight? Does it hurt?” B’Elanna’s breasts had been sensitive before the pregnancy, now…

“No, it doesn’t _hurt_ , it…” she scowled, performed another little shimmy, looked behind her, “it’s my left breast…my nipple…” 

Infected? Inverted? Mastitis?!

“My nipple keeps slipping out of my bra. It’s done it three times this morning.” 

_Well,_ he thought, _three times did suggest a tendency_. “I can help tuck it back in,” he offered with a grin. 

“I think you’ve already _helped_ enough, flyboy.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a grin of her own. 

“I could at least give it a stern talking to,” he suggested.

She took another half step toward him, and looped her left arm around his neck. His hands gilded over her hips and along her waist to her ribs. She reached up with her right hand, slipped it inside her uniform jacket and tugged on the cup of her bra through her shirt, giving her shoulders a little shake that he prayed she’d repeat later tonight, naked. She smiled and allowed her shoulders to relax, then slid her right hand over his chest and up to his shoulder so she could link her hands behind his neck. 

“I’m not sure a lecture will be good enough, Tom.” Her voice was husky. “They might need some other form of...deterrent to stay in line.” The look in her eyes was positively heated, and Tom felt desire slam him in the gut. 

“Hellllo, second trimester,” he cooed, swooping in for a slow, heated kiss. 

B’Elanna laughed and pushed him away. “I don’t care if Harry blows up the warp core, I will not be late for dinner tonight,” she said, pulling him toward the turbolift.

As the ‘lift doors closed behind them he tugged her back into his arms. “Just don’t be late for dessert,” he quipped. Then he kissed her. 

 

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Nipple + Slippage = Nippage


End file.
